


Howling Inside

by wingswinger



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Aggression, Alternate Universe - Mental Institution, Angst, Attraction, Awkward Flirting, Diary/Journal, Disturbing Themes, Doctor Chris Argent, Doctor Peter Hale, Eichen | Echo House, Eventual Smut, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Insomnia, Investigations, Librarian Stiles Stilinski, M/M, Medication, Mental Health Issues, Mutual Pining, Mystery, Narcissism, POV Stiles Stilinski, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Schizophrenia, Security Guard Derek Hale, Therapy, Were-Creatures
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-13 05:35:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29273346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wingswinger/pseuds/wingswinger
Summary: Stiles has panic attacks, Scott attempted suicide after a breakup, Lydia thinks she has visions, Isaac has PTSD and Jackson is just simply in love with himself.All these kids need some healing time at the Eichen House -hopefully they'll get better with the help of Dr. Chris Argent and Dr. Peter Hale.The latter though might have other things in mind...OrThe AU where everyone is in a mental institute while were-creatures DO exist! Stiles finds himself dropped face-first into a strange murder case where both the victim and the killer are inside Eichen House, and the only recent change in there was the new security guard. But can a guy that beautiful be actually a murderer?
Relationships: Allison Argent/Scott McCall, Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Kudos: 9





	1. I.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi!
> 
> I have no idea what to write here because I'm just spontaneously posting this fic I started for my own satisfaction. I can make no promises but I'll continue as long as it entertains me like it does now. 
> 
> TRIGGER WARNING: see tags, but since I would never read anything darker than a dark hot chocolate recipe, you can trust me to keep horror and pain to a minimum. 
> 
> I'm writing this because horrible as it may sound, there was not enough Eichen House Stiles for me in season 3. Soooo many possibilitesss, ohhh....
> 
> So if you decide to stick around,  
> Happy Reading, my Buddy!

I.

It was a full moon that night. He always tracked the lunar cycle for no apparent reason. He drew it sometimes, but wasn’t the best artist in the world, so he didn’t do it for the aesthetics. He probably just wanted to keep track of the passing time.  
Inside there every day felt like the same one on repeat. Wake-up alarm. Shower. Breakfast. Therapy. Lunch. Relaxation. Inside work. Dinner. Sleep. Or sometimes the programme points were switched, however still being the same story over and over again.  
Forever.

Or at least it definitely felt like it. Even more so when the lunch or dinner came with a stronger medication. These days and nights time flew and splashed like ink and dried up like rainwater on the pavement. Other times it hurt his insides, twisted his chest in knots and caused a migraine.  
Sometimes Stiles took these days like a champion, and other times he cried, he hid under his blanket and wanted to die. He never really tried to die, though. He would never do that to his dad.  
Probably this was the main reason why the episodes felt so horrible: his fear of death. The fear of leaving his father all alone after his mom’s death. So he kept fighting whenever that tightness started to settle down in his chest, his throat and it all felt like his airways were closing up, felt like his heart wanted to crawl up his throat but there was not enough room. He was sure he would suffocate, and his limbs went ice cold as he hyperventillated.  
Yes, panic disorder. It’s what the doctor called it. Stiles called it a fucking misery.  
Hopefully he won’t have to deal with an attack anytime soon because he just had one the other day. Something that followed a panic attack though, was insomnia. He couldn’t really fall asleep for days after a pretty strong episode, just like now. 

He had been lying awake for hours and his system kept on working on overdrive like he was incapable of becoming sleepy. Usually he’d ask for medication after a couple of days when his body started to disfunction and his coordination became somewhat rocky – knocking books off shelves in the library or dropping his plate at dinner.  
But not now. Now he was kind of relaxed as he watched the clouds move on the night sky through the barred window. It was Summer, and the cool nighty breeze felt quite refreshing after sweating all day. The clouds blanketed the full moon partly, fully, then went on their way and the white light illuminated the moles on his face in the dark room again.  
Good for them, Stiles thought. They can move away whenever they want. He wished he could just do the same. But again, he reminded himself of the last time he tried to stay at home and go to school like a normal teen. He ended up in the ER next day because he felt like he was having a heart attack during lacrosse practice.

And, other than that… he looked over to his right to see Scott tucked peacefully under his blanket. He slept on his back and snored a little as always during this time of the year due to his allergies. They met right here in Eichen House 8 years ago right after Stiles’ mom died and Scott’s parents divorced. They spent some days in to be part of an intensive group therapy for traumatized children but it was more like a game club with a doctor’s supervision.  
From then he and Scott were inseparable, they went everywhere together and became kind of like brothers. Scott was there when Stiles stole one of his father’s official files and secretly solved a murder case sooner than the actual detectives working on it. He was there when Stiles had his first kiss from a girl in their school. He was also with him when they read about deadly illnesses at class and Stiles had his first panic attack.  
But it went both ways. Stiles had a shelf in Scott’s room because he slept over so many times. He accompanied Scott to his scariest appointment to the dentist and he knew the girl who enchanted Scott’s heart so badly that the boy almost killed himself when they broke up. Almost, meaning he actually tried.  
This is why they were both there now, on floor 5, room 53 of the Eichen House.

Stiles sucked in a dashed breath, stretching his arms forward before closing his eyes for the first time, trying to fall asleep finally. He wasn’t quite sleepy yet, but the cool wind was doing wonders to his overheated skin. It felt really comfortable as he settled deep into his pillow (which was his own one, the one that he took everywhere with him since a very young age), and took a long breath in through his nose. He started to sense as his neck and shoulder muscles relaxed, then his chest, stomach and he could swear he also felt his head unclench from the tension he grew quite accustomed to by now.  
It was almost there, the pulling of the dark fog that could spare him the meds he would ask for the next day anyway. As a last conscious reflex his mouth tugged up into a lazy smile at the thought that he COULD beat the bad cycle and will sleep on his own, when suddenly he heard a yell from far away but within the building.  
He jumped up into sitting like a needle had just poked his backside. He instantly became alert.  
Now it was all silent again, but the yell he just heard, kept echoing through his mind (and probably through the walls too). It wasn’t a simple scream, if it was Stiles would not have been so startled by it anyway. Taking the place into account they were in, it wasn’t so strange to hear a resident shout ot scream at night. But no, it wasn’t like that. If it wasn’t impossible, Stiles would even think it was not human at all.  
It sounded just like… a howl.

–Ummmhh, Stiles? You can’t sleep again, or what?– Scott turned to look at him through his sleepy lashes and his voice sounded like he was still half asleep.

–Did you not hear it?– Stiles furrowed his brows.

–I heard you jumping around… 

–No, I mean the yell.

–They yell all the time. Plug in your music and sleep… – said his friend, slipping back into his dreamworld.  
Stiles slowly let himself lie back on the bed, his ears still alert for any sound from outside the door. He looked out to see the moon but it was covered by a big dark cloud. He really wished he could use his earphones as he usually did at home but since he was rooming with Scott, the nurses took it from him, just like they took his shoelaces and even his woven tribal bracelet.  
There was no way he’d fall asleep now without those fucking meds.

By the time the wake-up alarm went off (which was always so loud and sharp they felt it all the way through their own spines) he made up a hundred stories in his head about the howl he heard last night.  
Some of those stories had rational, realistic arches and as time went on he started to make up more and more unbelievable ones. This is how he got from the idea of the TV being on max volume on the third floor to, well, werewolves.


	2. II.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles meets the new guard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello Guys, still not sure where we are going but I'll let these awesome boys decide. 
> 
> Happy Reading ;)

II.

Of course, Stiles moved around that day like a hyperactive zombie. Trying very hard to stay focused but kept losing it over and over again. He was sure his brain shut off twenty times at least while they waited in line for their breakfast which was poached eggs, ugh, he hated even the smell of it.  
Scott meanwhile couldn’t shut up about a new video game that will come out the exact date he was supposed to leave this place if nothing bad happened until then. Which was two weeks from now.  
Stiles wished he could also see the light at the end of the tunnel like Scott did. Since this was Scott’s first almost-adult trip to the mental institute and his therapy seemed to be making the trick, he was officially on the way to becoming healthy.  
Stiles, though, was a constantly relapsing mystery for doctors and therapists, because no matter how many times they went over the death of his mom, no matter how many times he seemed to be working it over, his panic attacks kept coming back with full force.  
They tried hypnosis, analysed his family and early childhood, played family roles in a psychodrama session… and right now Dr. Argent made him write a journal every day about his general feelings, expecting him to somehow get to the bottom of the problem if he keeps an eye on Stiles’ basic thoughts.

So, Stiles carried the journal around just in case he had an epiphany unexpectedly during lunch or in the library where he did his compulsory ’intime work’ so that he could show his doctor how horribly boring these days are and that he was on a very wrong path with him.  
„Boring. Boring. Boring…” – He scribbled down the word three times, not even looking at the paper, while watching a dude named probably… Greenberg(?) as the guy took a book in his hand and furiously jerked the pages around. Stiles instantly wanted to warn him that these books are delicate and need to be handled with care, so he opened his mouth to say: Hey, please touch that book more carefully like you’d stroke a cat, you know?  
But he only got to the

–Hey…!– part, when the boy’s eyes lit up with something close to obsession and tore a page right out of the middle of the book. Stiles’ face froze mid-sentence and he let out a disappointed sigh. –Surely I wouldn’t let you stroke my cat, buddy… – he murmured under his breath, when suddenly a voice not even remotely familiar started talking to him from behind.

–Correct me if I’m wrong but I thought you were here to prevent these things from happening.

–Well, I’m not a mind-reader! And I’d surely not let him in here if I had a time-machine, but obviously…–Stiles turned around in his seat finally to face the new security guard who probably wasn’t well aware that they were located in a mental institute where most people are, well, mental.  
He was kinda surprised though. The guy was not the usual guard type with a cold, empty stare and a tucked in flannel shirt covering a round tummy. Not at all. He was tall, wearing black all over and his phisique was scarringly perfect, like… like a sculpture of masculinity.  
Stiles forgot what he was about to say, but based on the reaction (a wondering eyebrow-lift) he knew the dude expected him to keep talking so he switched the topic. – Who the heck are you anyway?

–Derek. – he only said this one short word pointing to his name-tag that was fastened to the side of his black jeans above a pocket. 

–Well, Derek, nobody will know your name if you place it on your… uh, anyway, How was I supposed to stop the boy from tearing out that page again?

–You could write a list of people who should not be allowed near any books, instead of scribbling meaningless words. And just to respond to your other point: I don’t have my uniform ready yet. This is the only place where I could clip it on.  
Stiles was not ready and focused enough to deal with the sass this guy allowed to himself while talking to a random resident. What was the point, anyway? He could have just been a bag of potatoes who stares into the wall all day drooling. Speaking of drooling, though, Stiles had a seriously hard time looking away when the new guard turned away and took off a paper sheet from the top shelf right beside him, making the tight material of his t-shirt ride up to reveal his hip. 

He had a weird sensation inside his chest and abdomen, something his sleep-deprived mind should be mixing up because he never before was getting turned on by other guys, no matter how unforgivingly hot they were.  
He had to swallow down a lump when the guy – Derek – leaned down to his table and placed the empty paper in front of him. For a brief moment he could smell the man’s deodorant and it wasn’t anything extraordinary, but still the fact that he could FEEL it invading his senses made his heart jump weirdly.  
Stiles was sure he’s have another panic attack if he wasn’t a complete zombie.  
The fuck was happening to him.

–So, would you be so kind to write down the names of those who are not advised to enter the library? Please?

–Not advised by who?– Stiles managed to ask, looking up at the sharp green eyes boring into him.

–By you. You are the librarian, are you not?

–Well… – he began to say ’no, I’m just here on intime work but I’m still a resident, and the librarian will be here in half an hour’, but then his mind registered a momentary look at the clock which showed that Stiles was actually already late from his therapy session with Dr. Argent. –Shit! I need to go now. Bye Derek, and have a nice talk with the actual librarian!

Stiles rushed out of the library and tripped over the door on the way but fortunately he did not fall on his face. The office of Dr. Argent was on the next floor so he took three steps at a time to be there faster, meanwhile trying awfully hard not to replay his whole conversation with this new security guard in his head. Well, he failed, obviously, because he instantly cringed at the last sentence he said to him.  
So Derek thought he was working here? Surely that’s why he even approached him to talk. Guards never really chatted with residents here. They kept their distance to be able to interfere when they ended up at eachother’s throats like wild animals.

The door was halfway open when he stopped in front of it. He hesitated for a moment, was Dr. Argent even inside? They never leave the door open like that.  
After a second thought, Stiles didn’t need to care about any of this. He just knocked two times and then stepped in. He witnessed the familiar doctor speaking to Hilda, his old assistant who only ever growled at his patients.

–So you have the name, and she’ll be waiting for you at the station… – Dr. Argent looked up at him and waved his hand to invite Stiles in. –Stiles, I almost started to wonder…

–Sorry for being late. Lost track of time… 

–I see– Chris Argent said while visibly putting this little information in a mental pocket to draw it out whenever the situation demanded. –Thank you, Hilda. 

–No problem, Dr. Argent– the assistant nodded loyally, but still coldly, then she left them alone. Stiles was already sitting on his usual chair next to the window. Dr. Argent made his way to the couch. Stiles was the only one of his patients who preferred the chair to the couch when talking.

–So… I don’t see the journal with you.  
OH FUCK.

–Oh, f… damn. I left it at the library. Do you want me to– Stiles instantly stood, but Dr. Argent shook his head with a soft facial expression.

–No, don’t worry about it. At least that should mean you took my advice and wrote things down. Right?

–Yes, I did. Drew even…

–Alright. That’s good. What did you draw?

–The moon. Moon phases… They interest me. 

–Why?

–I… dunno – Stiles shrugged absolutely honestly. – It’s a good indicator of time passing, I guess.

–So you like to keep track of time. The time you spend here? Do you miss your father?

–Uh, of course I miss him. I wish I could go home, but I would be stupid not to want it, you know. 

–I know this is not exactly a vacation, Stiles. But you are here for a reason. You are here so that we, I can help you.

–Yes, I know. Don’t worry, Doc, I’m not planning an escape, just draw the moon sometimes. 

–What did you write down?

–Just… everyday… things. The shower was too cold, Scott was snoring… And how I hate poached eggs, which I meant as a secret plea because you probably may have the power to change these kind of things. I’m pretty sure the whole population of the place would be grateful if we never had to–

–Stiles, did you write anything down that is not a fact, or food preference but rather… a personal emotion? A feeling? About anything.  
Stiles fell silent. 

–I… tried to. I really did, but… Since my last panic attack I don’t… don’t really feel. Anything. At all.

–And you do not sleep again, judging from the circles under your eyes. Am I right?  
For a brief second the a passing thought flashed in his mind, announcing that he actually met Derek, the tower of freaking masculinity in his worst shape ever.

–Stiles? – the doctor blinked at him curiously. –What is on your mind?

–Well… –he was not ready to share his whole new curiousity towards one particular male, so he improvised – Today a kid tore out a page from a book in the library and the security guard scolded ME for it. So, I just wondered, what’s the point in me sitting there, taking responsibility for things I can’t prevent?

–Well, Stiles. Your condition is one of the less serious and I think a little participation in work helps you not to fall out of your role in the outer society. In a case like this you should inform the librarian, or you could even politely approach the resident about it. They might not even know they’re doing something wrong. Who was this security guard?

–Uh. I don’t know his name. 

–So he is the new one. Stiles Stilinski would know their name otherwise, I’m pretty sure. He is not supposed to scold anyone, Iet alone talk to the patients though. I’ll let him know.

–Oh. – Stiles suddenly wanted to bite off his own tongue. Shit. Hopefully he didn’t just get Derek fired. Not that he cared that much. Not that he’d like to see him again. Because, damn, why would he turn gay for one guy? This made no sense at all. As he got lost in his thoughts, the doctor called his name again, after speaking about God knows what.

–Stiles? You really are zoning out today. I’ll give you some medication that helps you sleep.

–Okay, sure. Just please not the one that caused that migraine last time…

–Absolutely not. Alright. There you go. You’ll get the pills at dinner. Hopefully not poached eggs, hm?

–Thanks, Doc.  
When he left the office the library was already closed. So much for his writing therapy.


	3. III.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No smut yet, just death. Sorry.

III.

Since he had a little freetime now, he walked back to their room to check if Scott was available. But as he did, he realized that Scott was sitting in Dr. Deaton’s office at that very moment.   
His mind felt familiarly dim and his legs seemed to work on their own when they took him to the garden. On sleep-deprived days like this he decided to just enjoy whatever he still could: the sun, being out, the peaceful privacy until one of the residents decided to pop down into his lap… whatever.  
He also wanted to call his dad. Wasn’t sure what he would say, though, besides that he misses him and stifling the urge to cry.  
Maybe tomorrow.  
Stiles had a nice hideaway in the garden. A secret place where he could have at least a minute of a breather, behind the tall pine tree at the corner of the fence. He walked over to his shelter and sat on the ground, turning his back to the Eichen House. If he had his journal he’d write about the way the cool mid-day breeze felt against his pale skin and the cold ground under his butt. He liked the cold, because it made him feel something on days when it didn’t come naturally.  
His eyes shifted to his left side, and on the flat, dark soiled ground he saw a flower that had purple petals and looked so out of place. Stiles never was a flower-boy type, he did not really care about plants before. He probably just started to miss biology classes, the weekend cycling sessions in the nearby forest with his dad and everything that was normal, natural and far away from the Eichen.  
He held out his slightly trembling fingers and gently touched one petal. The moment felt peaceful and relaxing, and he almost felt the urge to sleep again without any helping medication when a tentative poke at his shoulder startled him. He jerked his head up like he was stung by a bee.

–Oh. I didn’t know you were… having a moment there with that flower – a tall, curly-haired boy blinked at him awkwardly, but this was his usual way of going at things. 

–Eh, hi, Isaac. What’s up? – Stiles relaxed back against the tree while he suspected his t-shirt would get dirty from the bark. Didn’t care much.

–Nothing. It’s a wonderful day, just as usually.

–Hm. You almost sound convincing. Did you practice? – Stiles huffed with a smirk. He told Isaac last week he would never get the chance to have visitors if he kept up his negative attitude. Surely Stiles knew it was just his sense of humour, but you don’t actually joke with suicide in a mental institute.

–It’s all I do. What else can be done in a shitty place like this? I just scrubbed my nails off helping out in the kitchen this morning. Felt fuckin’ fantastic. Like, does anybody ever eat their food here?!

–Don’t look at me, I usually wolf down the whole plate including napkins… but poached eggs, man, they taste like…

–Shit. That was eaten and then vomited out by a sick dog.

–I couldn’t have worded it more… accurately if I tried.  
Isaac shrugged and sat down at the bottom of the fence, facing Stiles. They just sat there, staring at their own shoes, feeling out of this world. Then Stiles heard some unusual noise from the direction of the building and tilted his head curiously, displaying all his moles to Isaac.  
He saw people, actually too MANY of them. Looked like the whole population of the institute was flooding the garden. He didn’t hear the fire alarm going off so he made a confused face.

–What the hell is happening there? Someone found a WW2 bomb in the showers?

–Nah. They found a dead body in the cellar.  
WHAT? Stiles’ mind switched on immediately and he widened his eyes at Isaac who shrugged again apathetically.

–A dead body?! Who died?!

–Uh, Meredith. The girl who had the…

–I know, visions. Holy shit! – Stiles stood up like a man on a mission. – The cellar? How do you know this?

–I was finishing up in the kitchen when I heard Lydia scream. I just went to check… okay, I went to tell her to shut up because she wouldn’t. But she was already surrounded by the guards and nurses. The cellar door was open…

–But it’s always locked… This is… fuck! And how did she die? – Stiles kept up with the questions, suddenly very intrigued and somewhat terrified. If it was a heart attack, he could put his mind at ease, while he’d silently feel bad about the girl (who he never actually spoke to), but something told him he would not get the most calming answer for that question.  
Well, not from Isaac, anyway.

–I have absolutely no clue, man. What am I? A detective or something?  
Well, not a detective probably, but if somebody died here, a police officer should come and Stiles immediately thought of his father, the sheriff.

–I need to call someone! – he set off and ran away from Isaac, who stood up and raised his arms uncertainly.

–Great talking to you, too… – he mumbled mostly to himself.  
Stiles fought his way through a crowd of residents as he looked for any clue on what might have happened. He pressed his fragile frame through between Zack and Marvy who were not lightweights by any means, and he finally arrived at the doorframe where a certain roommate bumped into him.

–Stiles! We can’t go inside now, someone was found in the cellar-

–..dead, I know!

–What? Dead?! I thought someone just broke in! – Scott’s eyebrows shot up like rockets.

–Well, Isaac said that it’s…– he leaned in to whisper into his buddy’s ear directly– Meredith’s body they found!  
Scott made an open-mouthed, totally shocked face when they parted. 

–Oh my God, poor girl…

–Yeah.

–But… what the hell happened?  
Then they both started to let in a particular voice that was louder and more irritating then the rest of the crowd.

–She cut her wrists? Really? That’s just disgusting! Jesus. I mean, there were ropes or pills…  
It was Jackson, whose emotional intelligence was almost as fully developed as a newborn’s beard. Difference is, he wouldn’t grow any more of it in 15-20 years.  
Jackson was talking to one of his smallbrained friends, which was one of the rottweiler-twins. Or, that’s how Stiles called them anyway, because they were both in for aggression issues.  
Now that they knew it was suicide, Stiles felt a cold twist in his chest and his eyes trailed off, not really daring to look Scott in the eyes.

–Shit… I wish she visited Deaton. He is really good at handling… this stuff. – he heard Scott say.– Hey, Stiles. Stiles?

–Hm?– he looked up finally, swallowing around the lump in his throat. The mere thought of Scott doing something like this… it turned his eyes pink.

–Hey. Come-come with me – Scott gently pat his arm knowingly and nodded towards the side of the building. They left the crowd and Stiles followed Scott to the trash containers for a little privacy. He appreciated that Scott always picked up on his emotions (or, most of the time whenever his own intense emotions did not blind him). Now his best friend was looking at him with concern.

–Wow, stop with the puppy eyes, dude! It’s not me, who… I mean. I’m just… You know. – Stiles was not able to blurt it out without shedding a tear. God, he was worn out and sensitive, seemed like.

–I won’t do it. Ever again. I promised you, remember? Don’t worry, okay? – Scott stated so solidly and confidently that Stiles would probably just let him go home if he was Scott’s doctor.  
His heart calmed at the reassuring words and he took a deep breath in.

–Right –he sniffed once and smiled softly. 

–Jesus, man, you need to sleep. Those circles under your eyes are kinda purple. Like the twins got you from both sides, kinda…  
Stiles huffed out a snort.

–I should probably ask them to do it, might put me to sleep finally.  
In the afternoon the police comes to investigate the death (not the sheriff though), but the residents are taken back to their rooms by that time. Nobody can come out until dinner, so Scott and Stiles have some time to kill. They play their usual game when one of them lists 3 words and the other needs to guess what he thought about.  
They are lying on their own assigned beds, Scott having one leg hanging off the edge, otherwise using the mattress typically. Stiles, on the other hand, is lying across the middle of the bed, having his head hanging down, looking at the room upside down. His hands are busy pressing at a stress ball continuously.

–Okay, my turn. White, Cat, Roach.

–That must be The Witcher!

–YEAH!

–But… hey, why the Cat?

–Because the Feline armor is the absolute best.

–No way, man! It’s the Bear. And later, the Viper.

–But the Feline looks the most badass.

–Uh, give me a break. 

–Your turn– Scott shrugs upside down in Stiles’ vision. He can’t think of another movie or video game to bring into the game they haven’t yet but there is another thing at the back of his mind so he gives it a try on Scott.

–Mmmm, right. Night, um, Eichen, howl. 

Scott’s brows do a weird movement.

–Howl? Like, a dog?

–Somewhere between a scream and… dunno, a tiger maybe? – as Scott’s face seems to suffer permanent damage by the brow movement, Stiles decides to enlighten him a little more, so he sits up normally, shaking his head when a sudden dizziness breaks his balance. – So, last night I almost fell asleep, or maybe I even did. Then, suddenly from the dead silence I heard a scream-howl from inside the house. I’m sure it was close, but far enough to be… Shit, it could have been coming from the cellar! Holy fuck.

–Woah, slow down. So you heard someone scream at night? Sure it wasn’t a dream?

–I swear it wasn’t. I had some terrible nightmares so I know the difference, believe me.

–You think it could have been Meredith?

–No, it wasn’t… wasn’t a girl’s scream. I said it, it was like a-

–Tiger? You can’t think a tiger lives in the cellar, right? 

–Fuck knows! Why do they keep the damn door locked all the time like there is mortal danger?! Except of course now… – the look in Scott’s eyes matched the ones on his father when he said he could handle his panic attacks. DISBELIEF. – Uh. I have no idea what I’m talking about, dude. Forget it.

–Stiles, if you think there is something inside the cellar…

–Screw it, it was stupid.

–…then we could check it out – his friend finished the thought.

–WHAT? Really? You would? – Stiles’ attention was grabbed.

–The heck, man, of course! It’s not just you dying from boredom here.

–Damn, dude you are the coolest! – they high-fived and almost immediately the lock on their room door clocked and it slid open. The evening guard, Moe announced dinner grumpily.

–After eating you are not allowed to go anywhere else. Back to your rooms immediately.

–Understood. – the boys walked out one after the other and while getting to the dining area, Stiles’ mind provided him a possible way to get into the cellar later. A possible, but very unlikely way, but still. He had been talking to a guard recently who was different from the other ones all around the place. Still remembered his smile, the way his youthful fresh enthusiasm was still present.   
So, Stiles only needed to convince Derek somehow to help them.


	4. IV.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNINGS: Bullying! Panic attack! 
> 
> Shit hits the fan in this chapter and I really hope I do not offend anyone with the way I show it.  
> Today I had a shitty day and I meant to go a little deeper with this chapter, using my own inner troubles and past experiences with panic/anxiety.  
> So, this is based on my experience, but you know - I can only write my own thing. 
> 
> I will put a * the part where Stiles' panic attack starts and a * where it ends to leave the opportunity to skip it.
> 
> ALSO I might have not used the right words in some sentences, or might even have invented words because I'm somewhat exhausted. So please let me know if you find words that do not exist or mean nothing in the context. Thank you for helping a dorky non-native speaker.

–How do you find a guard? I haven’t seen him since… well, morning– Stiles contemplated right above his plate. 

–How do you know he’d help us at all?– Scott shook his head in confusion.

–I… I don’t know, but he-he is new and he was the first one to make a conversation with me. Well, before he found out I was not staff but a patient.

–So he is possibly going to ignore us now, huh? –Scott was not very helpful. –Why don’t you eat?  
Stiles took a look at the last sausage on his plate and his stomach grumbled. He was hungry, kinda, but he knew that having an empty plate meant he was supposed to down the two yellow pills he had placed at the side of his tray. Which he would have been thankful for the other night, but now, he should not fall asleep tonight.  
They had a thing to do, FINALLY. 

–Brunski keeps looking at me. If I eat it, I’ll have to take the pills too.

–So? Should we throw it away, or…?

–No, he is still watching. – Stiles glanced up and froze. –Oh, shit. He is coming here!– he bit the inside of his cheek as the definiton of a sadist approached, grinning creepily at them as he leaned forward right into Stiles’ face.

–You’re not into poached eggs. You’re not into sausages… Being in here is not the best time to go vegan, Stilinski… – his thick brows rose without any empathy. Stiles gulped and tried looking away, but the guy suddenly grabbed his chin and turned the boy’s face back to him. –Or do you need to be force-fed?  
As their eyes met, Stiles felt something deep almost in his bones, some piercing, sharp disgust and fear, being stuck there in this vulnerable, pathetic situation. He wished he could just go home, he wanted his dad. God, he wanted his mom… A sinking feeling and his stomach jumping anticipated the first tear that rolled down his face slowly. 

–Eh, you’re gonna cry now, huh? The sheriff’s little son… Too weak to even kill himself properly. Just trying to starve, to spare himself the courage.

–So, –Stiles gritted his teeth and his facial muscles twitched from anger – bullying is in your job description now? Some people here might react to that with violence, Brunski. 

–Do you really think you can threaten me, you little–

–OH MY GOD! – came the loud shriek from Scott’s direction who was now standing frozen in front of the dining table, eyes glued to the entrance. Around them everybody turned to look at him, including Brunski and Stiles too. But while Stiles was under stress and also a fresh worry rose in his chest for his best friend’s reaction, he still had the brains to think about the pills he wanted to get rid of. So it was NOW or never, and he reched just a little bit over to take the yellow pills and showed them in his pocket. Meanwhile he eyes Scott and easily found the source of his distress, as he followed his gaze.  
At the entrance of the dining area two new nurses walked in, one he never saw before but the other… Oh, God damn it! She was Allison Argent.  
She was the reason why Scott almost killed himself last month.

Well, the evening did not go as planned, by any means. After the incident when Scott freaked out upon seeing Allison, the girl noticed him too and the whole scene became chaotic. Scott had an asthma attack, and needed to be taken to the medical room, Brunski watched as Stiles ate the last bites of his dinner while he definitely did not feel hungry at all any longer.  
Then, he wanted to go check on Scott, but was stopped by another guard, named Greyson and he got walked back to his room. This was a total mess, a tension that kept spiraling deeper and deeper as time passed and there was no sign of Scott. Stiles leaned against the little, nose-sized window on their door to call for someone, anyone. 

–Hey! Hey, please?! SOMEBODY!... Hey, please tell me something about my friend! PLEASE! –his voice felt hoarse from the yelling after a while when nobody reacted, he didn’t even hear anyone around their floor.  
*  
Stiles then pushed back from the door with disappointment, but suddenly he had to hold onto it, because a wave of dizziness hit him bad. –Ah, fuck… – he took a look at his hands and they were shaking. He didn’t even FEEL the adrenaline rush, he was so exhausted – only the effects on his body. There was a dull ache at the centre of his chest that was growing more and more intense every second. –No, not right now! Get a fucking grip, Stiles…– he tried willing it away, but he knew deep down it would not work. His breathing became a little rushed and shallow, and it was official: he was on the edge of another panic attack.  
He needed to make a quick decision before he was unable, so he shoved his trembling hands in his pocket and he fished out the yellow pills he placed there during the events of dinnertime.  
He didn’t hesitate to take them, drinking his glass of water that had been there for almost a day now. He couldn’t care less at the moment even if it was poison, Stiles was just praying to every higher power not to get worse.  
The dizziness, the chest pain, the shaking he could take – fuck, he was kind of used to these things – but sometimes his body could suprise him with brand new symptoms, like last time the tongue numbness, and the random vomiting before that.  
Please go away. Please go away. Please. Go. Away. Please. Help me. Dad, help me. Help me. Help– he didn’t even realize he was muttering audibly until there was a hard knock at the door and he heard a voice faintly, quietly, like it came from another world, but it only came from behind the door.  
*

–Hey, you okay there? Do you need help?  
Oh God, thank God someone was here! Stiles suddenly forgot to breathe and stood up, he didn’t even remember getting curled up on the ground. His legs felt wobbly like after he gets off a rollercoaster, but otherwise his symptoms quieted down, only the sedative’s impact did he feel still. It started to cover him up like a dark blanket, making his coordination and speech less controlled.

–Ye-yeah. I… can you… can you by any chance check on my roommate? He is… S-Scott McCall. Had an asss-asthma attack…

–I just came from the med, I saw him. He is fine but they keep him there for the night to make sure. No need to worry. – the guard said helpfully, kindly and Stiles was almost completely sure he was dreaming the whole scene because guards did not talk like that to him. Ever. –Go, sleep now. You look like you need it.

–Ar-are you even… r-real? – he slurred as he stumbled back and fell right across his bed. This moment the whole world went blank and peaceful. So much for his cellar trip.

It was 7:30 am when he woke up, still alone in the room. Scott’s bed was untouched since yesterday and Stiles needed a moment to re-collect the memories he had from last night. Surprisingly, he felt quite fresh and well-rested, and even more of a surprise: he was tucked in his bed, blanket over his whole body. He even might have done it himself in his sleep if he was feeling cold – which he doubted, considering the warmth of the place right now, but his suspicions were proved the moment he looked at his nightstand and found a new glass of water there, along with his journal.  
The one he lost in the library the other day. Oh. So he did NOT dream it. A guard was here yesterday, and none other than the new one: Derek.  
A heavy weight shifted off of Stiles’ shoulders as he recalled Derek’s words of Scott. He was fine, thank God.  
He ran a finger over the cover of his journal like it carried any info of the guard, on why he brought it back to Stiles. He opened it even in case there was a message for him in there on the last page, but there wasn’t –not on the last, not on the first. His life was not a movie, it was just another insane day at Eichen House.  
Just a couple of seconds later the alarm went off on the whole floor and the day began.  
The shower-routine was actually very well-planned out because when he was scheduled to have his time, only one or two other people would be in the bathroom, plus a morning guard. Today that was Greyson, the silent one, and Stiles only needed to share the area with only one patient who took the last stall but was luckily finishing, turning the water off.  
Stiles glanced at the guard who did not make eye contact with him, and the boy rolled his ambers. He started brushing his teeth, finding in the mirror that his under-eye circles are magically gone.  
Then the other guy stepped out in his view wearing his towel around his waist and Stiles’ eyes went wide realizing it was his best friend.

–Jesus, Scott!– he sighed after spitting in a hurry. The other boy only noticed him and cracked a very tired smile.

–Stiles, hey.

–Oh God, dude, I was worried! Are you alright? –Stiles walked up to him and started scanning his face. Scott was not really looking alright, by no means. His eyes were red and somewhat swollen, and his focus was nearly as dim as Stiles’ was a day before.  
Like he had gotten no sleep at all.

–Yeah, sure. I am fine. 

–You don’t look fine. Hey, you should talk to Deat– Stiles wanted to say, but the grumpy guard cleared his throat and announced:

–Move, McCall, Dr. Hale is not going to wait forever for you.

–Dr. Hale?– Stiles blinked rapidly. –Like, Peter Hale? Is he back?  
Stiles remembered the doctor from his earlier visits. Once, he learned Dr. Hale was gone and Isaac told him it was because he molested a patient. How could he be back after something like that?!

–I guess so– Scott shrugged, eyes trailing off like nothing really mattered. The hostile guard took a hold of Scott’s arm and shoved him towards his pile of clothes, folded on the radiator next to the door.

–Get dressed already!

–Do you have to be so damn pushy? Have you seen him?!

–I suggest you to go and take your shower and calm down before somebody else does it for you. –The guy turned back to glare at Stiles. He could hardly exchange some words with his best friend who obviously was shaken and hurt. Before he knew what to say, Scott was manhandled out of the bathroom, and Stiles just stood there, looking at the door.  
Why the fuck did Allison have to appear here? And, why on earth did Peter Hale return? What the hell will happen now?

–Scott… shit.


End file.
